As You Wish
by Kyonomiko
Summary: Jasmine, no longer a carefree Princess, but the Sultana of her father's kingdom, is lonely and a little lost. There is someone she could look to for guidance if she a can trust him, and if she can trust herself. Jafar x Jasmine
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

The Sultana of Agrabah sits alone in a gilded room. Guards flank the doors on the outside. If she called to them, they would be by her side in a moment, but they offer no companionship.

Her Father has been gone now for many years, leaving her his throne and kingdom when she was but a child of 19. She was not alone then. Her husband, Aladdin, had ruled at her side.

Badly. He ruled very badly.

The youthful optimism of the true-hearted boy did not translate to strategy or responsible leadership. A few short years of arguments and bad choices crashed into one incident that should have been a mere footnote in the expanse of her royal legacy. A neighboring kingdom had threatened their borderlands, fire and pillage terrorizing her people. They were a rogue faction, not sanctioned by the crown. She wanted to follow diplomatic means to a resolution. Aladdin saw injustice and, not only sent, but _led_ a small contingent of men to defeat those responsible. Ever the hero.

The foolish boy was killed for his efforts and the attacks continued. The former proud Princess was reduced to a broken girl, but in the end found peace through her preferred means of communication. The monarch in question put down the rebel commoners swiftly and their diplomatic relationship resumed, but with Jasmine losing some of her political power that her Father (_No_, she reminds herself, _that his advisor_) had built.

She was a widow at 23.

The men she selected for the task that came next were her most trusted, most loyal. They did not question the strange request by their beloved Queen. They were rewarded for their trouble after long years of search. She had given to them riches and status. One she had taken to her cold bed, if only for a night.

Now she sits, a woman of 28, aged beyond those years by the heavy crown and by loss. She remembers a sweet boy, loving her with innocence and childlike romanticism. She remembers her father's soft eyes when he left her, already beaten by his own loss and by betrayal. A palace of gold surrounds her and the years loom ahead full of possibility, but mocking her with the weight of choice.

She looks down at the dusty and beaten oil lamp in her hands. She need but stroke the side with her hand. Unlimited power could be hers. But more than that: The companion of her childhood, the dark man with cold black eyes, who made her feel clever and challenged, would bring that power to her, forced to prostrate at her feet.

Power is, however, hard to control.

It feels like a great risk. Her heart has hardened in time however and she has less fear of risk. She had been a proud, defiant girl. Now a strong confident woman instead.

With a held breath, she delicately rubs the side of the artifact, watching a red plume of smoke seep from its spout.


	2. Chapter 2

Swirls of red smoke form slowly to the massive image of a man with a broad bare chest and slick black hair. The figure's voice booms, echoing against the stone of the massive room.

"I am the great Genie of this lamp! I will grant you wishes thrice as is my lot. Speak, mortal, what is y-"

He stops short, having turned and now facing the woman seated on a cushioned throne. He folds his arms across his chest and glares at her with disdain. "Princess…" he confirms with venom.

Ignoring the tone but not the title, "Sultana, if you please, Genie. I've not been a princess for many years."

"Hmmm the old fool has shuffled off then. What number constitutes "many" years I wonder? A thousand years or a day pass with excruciating tedium while trapped within that piece of antiquity in your aging hands."

Jasmine lifts her head but lowers her eyes, looking down at him as best she can manage, taking into consideration his impressive height. "Your _fate_ is in my aging hands. I would make a deal with you."

"Oh well now, that _is_ interesting. Does the Street Rat know you would make a deal with darkness? I can't imagine he would agree. Has Jasmine learned to be deceptive with the years?" His sarcasm grates against her resolve.

She falters slightly but keeps her head erect, her eyes flashing away from his almost unperceivable. She says simply, "I rule alone."

He holds her gaze, trying to read her. The boy is dead or gone, by her hand or another, he can't tell. It is irrelevant in the end. What matters, is leverage. If she offers a pact, he must have some over her.

"Tell me about this deal then."

"For nearly 20 years you served my Father as his advisor. In the end you betrayed him for your own power. I do not trust you as a man."

"I am much more than a man."

"Yes, exactly. You are a snake and a villain."

He winces. "And that is why you would deal with me."

She smirks a little. "No, merely observations. What you also are, is powerful. But more than that, you are smart and accomplished in politics. When I said I rule alone, I mean just that. I have very little in the way of advisors. My deal is this: I am your Master by rights of the magic of the lamp. I will use your power as I see fit to help my people and my kingdom. Between what I have decided as my wishes, you will be allowed to live as you once did, in the palace. Your absence was never explained to the common people so your return will be equally silent. You will advise me as you did my Father, minus the acute betrayal."

"Naturally," he offers smarmily.

She continues, unphased. "If I see that your advice is given in good faith, and once I have used 2 wishes of my choosing, the third wish is yours to be free of the lamp."

She pauses and cocks her head in, what he remembers to be, a rather Jasmine-like way. "Do you agree to my terms?"

"It would seem, Prin… Your Majesty," he bows slightly, "that I have little choice."

"There is always a choice, Jafar." The man he was reacts to her use of his name for the first time. He remembers a sweet girl who he pushed daily with his taunts until she would say his name with poison in her distaste. A pretty thing with soft eyes. The eyes are harder now, but her visage is more beautiful with maturity. Her petite frame now the body of a woman with full curves.

"Very well. Then I accept the lavish palace life over the limited space of the lamp. I will serve you as my master and Queen in favor of whatever grubby peasant might next possess me." He grates his teeth with the indignity he feels, "We have a deal."

"If you would please, I would like you to look like you did as a man, rather this abomination before me."

He sneers, "Is that a wish, Master?"

"A request. You'll not see me free of the 2 wishes that are mine so soon."

"By your pleasure then, my dear." She shifts uncomfortably as the word pleasure drawls across his lips though she does not know why.

He waves his hand and his form changes. No longer so imposing in size, he returns to the figure with which Jasmine is very familiar. Tall and lean frame draped in black and red robes, he is still imposing in his own right. She almost smiles a little at the familiarity of him. She has been desperately alone.

"Better." She rises and begins to leave. "You will find your chambers rather untouched. I will meet you each morning in the courtyard for tea where we may discuss the issues of the day. Your time is your own unless I need you. Just remember, I can call you to me if you stray. Don't forget who you serve now."

He watches her walk away with a dark expression. Existence here will be preferable to languishing in that blasted lamp, sunk in the dirty sands, but she has made it clear he will be the slave he feels he is. In another swirl of red smoke, he is gone from the room before she reaches the doors.

Jafar appears in the center of a large stone room, circular in shape as his quarters had been high in a tower, looking down over the city and even the palace itself. He scans the space and realizes she had spoken the truth. His spell books, scrolls, and papers remain nearly untouched. However the room has been cared for, no dust evident on the disused surfaces. He wonders why it is so. He imagined once he was banished to this cursed existence that his chambers had been ransacked. The room is full of artifacts from ancient cultures.

Perhaps Jasmine had seen the value of all that he had amassed in his time as Royal Vizier.

Yet, when he takes the stairs to his bed chamber he finds his personal effects equally well preserved. His robes still hang in a wardrobe, his shoes still neatly lining the wardrobes floor. Even his bed, dressed in black silk with red draperies, is as he left it.

Perhaps she simply didn't have the stomach to approach his room.

He sits on the bed and stares out into his old life. The simple act of sitting is something he has hardly done in over a decade. His last master, a peasant in a neighboring kingdom, had never allowed him out of the lamp except when making his appallingly common wishes. He had wanted more wives, more property, and riches to support both. Small dreams from a small, cruel little man. Jafar had not minded when his third wish was phrased poorly, giving the man precious metals and stones instead of simply coin. He knew suspicions would be raised when the previously destitute man tried to sell or trade them and anticipated a difficult future, now burdened with six hungry wives.

He'd felt a little sorry for the wives.

Jasmine does not strike him as the type to wish poorly. He anticipates each will be carefully thought out to assure no mishaps from the tricky mistress that is magic. In the meantime, he feels like he has come home.

He allows a sincere and private smile for himself in the victory of his resurrection.

XXX

Jasmine pads across her bed chamber in dainty bare feet, pacing and fretting like a young girl. She admonishes herself for it but continues all the same. What in the world has she done?

Those cold eyes…She had nearly forgotten. How can she imagine to trust him, to use him?

Yet she feels the smallest flutter of excitement and anticipation. In a world where she has been alone, her family, her lover, everyone from her youth gone, he is so deliciously familiar. In her girlhood she had thought he seemed so... _old_. The darkness in him felt like a disease, like he needed to be cured of it. Her years have changed her and her own outlook is not as black and white as it once was. There is a lot of grey in this world.

And some of it can be alluring.

She slides into the sheets of her bed and sighs with the relief of it. Sleep will come and the morning always chases the shadows of doubt away, at least to some degree.

A flicker of guilt comes as she imagines Aladdin's disappointed face, but her own disenchantment with him has long since dampened her concern for what he would have thought of her. She thinks maybe he would not like her so much anymore, and fears maybe that would have been mutual.

Their romance had been chaste. He touched her only with reverence, delicately and as though she might break. He looked to her with the same soft expression in matters of state. As if the serious and cruel nature of the world might be more than his lovely wife could bare. For the span of their marriage he had left her in longing at best, bitter on the worst days. But he had loved her with the pure heart of a child and for that, part of her will always love him in return.

She tries to leave the dead where they belong, in sweet memories, and drifts to a sound sleep.

XXX

The morning already scorches with desert heat. Jasmine sits in the shade of a gnarled tree and sips a strong tea, watching the sun begin its climb, the air already hazy as the earth bakes beneath its wrath. She wears the silken pants and cool top that is her favored look. No longer the turquoise blue of her girlhood, nor the blood red Jafar had preferred, she now dons deep magenta with gold embroidery, warm vibrant tone against her caramel skin.

Jafar approaches slowly across the courtyard, walking on tall thin legs as a mortal man.

He stops short of the small table before her and bows. He snarls a, "Majesty" at her then pulls up to his full height and looks down at her with his piercing eyes.

She is not so easily rattled. "Good morning, Genie. Would you like to join me?" She gestures to the empty chair to her right where a second cup of tea waits. "Have some tea."

"I no longer have the needs of a mortal man."

"Oh? I recall you loved a good tea. No needs, but…desires perhaps?"

He raises an eyebrow at her. Is she toying with him so soon? He doesn't answer, only looks at her inquisitively.

She waves it away. "Suit yourself. It is there if you want it. Regardless, I request that you sit, simply so I don't have to look into the sun to speak to you."

He hesitates a moment but has decided that "defiant" is not the way to play this game. Instead he smiles an almost gentile smile and sits stiffly to her right.

"Thank you." She smiles back though there is little warmth. "We have very little discuss today so you will have the afternoon to become… reacquainted with the castle. I do however need you to make an appearance with me this afternoon."

He looks at her in question. Almost without thinking he reaches for the tea and sips delicately, relishing the flavor.

Jasmine tries to hide the self-satisfied smile. He is still a man after all. At least to some degree.

"There is an emissary to arrive from one of our trade partners to discuss the terms of our transactions. They are not entirely satisfied with those terms."

He nods for her to continue.

"I, however, and very satisfied with those terms and would like to keep them. I believe he would not have dared approach us with this when my Father was Sultan, but he believes me weak. I'd like you to help me convince him Agrabah is strong and he needs us far more than we need him."

"Is it Marikesa?"

"It is." She eyes him. "How did you know?"

He scoffs. "Don't take it personally, _Sultana_. He does this every so many years."

"Don't do that."

"Hmm?"

"Don't pretend to give me respect with a title but use it in disdain."

"Would you have me call you "Master" then?" He glares at her in barely concealed fury.

She shakes her head and sets her mouth in frustration. "Of course not. Anyway you've known me too long. I will give you leave to call me by my given name if you will simply say it with less disgust."

He pauses then nods in agreement. "I have known you too long, little Jasmine." A tiny piece of him softens at the memories of the sweet child she had been. A memory flashes in her mind of a tall man ushering her from a room the day her mother died, his hand urging her gently to look away.

He continues a little more harshly then he means. "But I will not be called "Genie" with condescension."

She smiles a little. "Agreed then, _Jafar_." She says his name with purpose.

They sit that way for a while, sipping tea in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

The summer days are lazy, finding Jasmine and Jafar falling into a familiar routine. Their banter is sharp and the kingdom continues to flourish. Jasmine listens to Jafar's advice with interest. Often she agrees and heeds his concerns. Occasionally she acts against his better judgment, sometimes to her detriment but other times with positive result.

In the end, Jasmine is happy with her choice to resurrect the Vizier. He had threatened her husband and her Father but time has given her a new perspective. Those men are dead, reclaimed by the desert sands, but thousands of people look to her for guidance, protection, and prosperity. With Jafar, she has given it over and over. She was a decent queen before. She's better with him. For his part, he is a better ruler than Aladdin ever hoped to be. She has no doubt her Father would not have been as beloved without Jafar's guidance.

He approaches her in the courtyard for their usual tete a tete.

She smiles. Her smiles are given more freely these days. "Good morning, Jafar."

He slows at her warm tone and curls his lip into his own smile. "Jasmine." He nods as he sits and doesn't hesitate to pick up the tea offered.

"So I've been thinking…"

He raises an eyebrow and engages in their usual banter. "I never doubted you were capable. I support you in the endeavor."

She huffs and blows her bangs in frustration. "Could you not do that, Jafar? I'm being serious." She smirks in mock annoyance.

He waves her to continue, hiding his own smirk in a sip of tea. "You were saying…"

She takes in a deep breath, the nerve she built up to approach him somewhat shattered. She isn't sure why she is surprised. He has never been what one would call gracious.

"I was thinking that perhaps you would like to join me for dinner in the evenings."

"In your infinite wisdom you recalled I don't eat, yes?"

"Yes I remember you have no _needs_ as you so eloquently put it. But I also notice you enjoy that tea you don't need." She points one manicured finger at his cup.

He pauses just as the cup touches his lip and looks sideways at her, slightly bemused.

She grins slyly. "Take a meal with me. We are our only companions you and I. Or so I assumed. I see you with little other company."

He thinks for a moment and realizes what she is dancing around. She is lonely. Jafar has always been comfortable with himself and does not require the mindless chatter that comes with human interaction.

Still, he does enjoy stimulating conversation. He would never admit it aloud, maybe not even fully to himself, but he doesn't dislike the company of the young woman currently awaiting his answer. What harm could come?

"Not a wish I suppose but a request, my dear?"

She nods.

"Very well then. What time do you dine?"

"Sundown. Will you join me this evening? I could have something prepared by the staff. Anything you would like."

"Don't make promises you may not be able to keep. I like a great _many_ things." His silky drawl plays over the words and his eyes flash. She feels a discomfort that is not altogether unpleasant.

Jasmine stands and moves to walk away. "I'll see you at sundown then," she says shyly.

"What of our morning meeting? Have you no business for me then?"

"Nothing today, Jafar. Thank you. Please stay and enjoy the tea." She rushes away feeling the flush in her cheek and hopes he did not notice.

He watches her fly from him and smiles into his tea. She is fun to taunt. More so now that her cheeks blush at his implications.

Jafar sits in the courtyard a moment longer before returning to his room, looking forward to the evening. He spends a quiet afternoon searching through old tomes and remembering his life before. Both sentiment and regret pay him a visit in his solitude.

As the summer sky turns to dusk, Jasmine enters the lavish dining hall and finds Jafar already seated at the table, set for two, but much too large for the pair of them.

He stands gallantly when she enters and waits to take his seat until she is perched in her lush chair and nods at him in greeting.

"Good evening, Jafar. Thank you for joining me."

"My pleasure."

In a moment of uncharacteristic and brutal honesty, Jafar continues and bares the tiniest corner of his soul. "I appreciate it was an invitation rather than an order. I have been afforded very little respect in this slavery."

A tiny part of Jasmine wants to scoff. Wants to throw in his face how little respect he had shown her, her Father, her husband. But that feels petty and out of date. She imagines perhaps they have moved past this. However, she still hesitates to not cross from warmth to weakness.

"You have been everything true to your word in our dealings and I think respect is fair due."

He'll take that, he thinks. Respect is a base for trust. Trust is necessary if he ever hopes to be free of his shackles.

He smiles congenially and gestures to her quickly cooling plate. "Shall we, my dear?"

Her own smile widens and she picks up her fork. "I remembered you like pheasant."

They both sample their meals and she secretly watches him, pleased to see the enjoyment on his face.

"So I've been thinking…"

"Twice in one day, Your Grace? My, you've been busy."

She smirks and holds his gaze, raises her eyebrows defiantly. She smiles even more broad when he rolls his eyes away in mock defeat.

"As I was saying, I was thinking you might like to move to new quarters."

"Why would I want that? I've not the-"

"Needs of a mortal man," she finishes. "Yes, yes I know. But I think I am continuing to prove you still _like_ things."

He pauses as the fork approaches his mouth with a touch of mirth in his eyes.

"Outside of the Royal Family you are the single highest ranking official in the kingdom." She takes a deep breath and plunges forward. "I thought you might like the largest suite down the corridor from mine. It befits your station and I'd like you to have it."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Why, Jasmine that's very generous. However I've lived, albeit with an absence in the middle, in the palace for twenty years. Why does this just strike you now?"

She blushes a little before she answers. "I actually always wondered why they put you in that tower."

She picks her fork back up and pretends to find much interest in her meal again. "Anyway I thought I would offer. Can I ask the staff to assist you in moving your effects tomorrow?"

He continues to look at her with a curious expression for a moment but she refuses to meet his eye. "Very well then. Thank you, Jasmine."

She looks back with a genuine smile. "You're welcome."

They continue their meal in a comfortable silence. When their food is gone and they bid each other a good night, Jafar bows to her slightly, with no mockery in his frame, and she grins before she glides away.

XXX

The seasons change though it is hard to tell in the desert heat. Jasmine rises from a shallow sleep, feeling a sense of presence. She blinks slowly in her waking and focuses her gaze to the man standing mere paces from her bed. Jafar stares at her.

He has been her advisor now for months. He is invaluable to her and she no longer tries to deny it, neither to herself or to him. Their alliances are stronger and their enemies don't dare approach their borders. Their only conflict against the kingdom has been from within. It is concerning this that he comes to her at an inappropriate hour.

She had asked him to come day or night with word.

"I am sorry to wake you."

She sits up, careful to hold the silk sheet against her rather exposed body, clad in a thin silk camisole and little else.

"What's wrong, Jafar?"

"There has been another raid. The men have just returned and found no survivors."

She nods and levels her gaze in thought. "Thank you for telling me. Have we found them yet?"

He shakes his head. "Not as of yet. I would like to apply more men to the search and give them… discretion to act should they find them, if I might have your leave?"

"You have it. Get it done. I would prefer arrests to assassinations so that we might question until we have found them all. But I will not look ill upon the appearance of any dead thieves."

"Very well I will ask Razoul to assemble-"

"No," she interrupts, "not Razoul. He is likely to take the head off a starving peasant for stealing a crumb as anything."

Jafar sneers at her soft-hearted sentiment and starts to speak but she holds up her hand for silence.

"I want _you_ to choose the men, Jafar." He is taken aback but nods.

"Let me be clear, I don't want to terrorize our people. I want to find the thieves, not be brought straw men to satisfy what you think is my justice. Killing beggars and orphans will not stop the raids and is therefore not my concern. The market takes care of its own and people are already punished for theft. But I will not send skilled guards on a manhunt to bring me scape goats. Find the thieves guild. And if the men you select are not capable, I will find better ones myself."

He stares but dares a smile that dances in his eyes though hardly touches his lips. He offers a curt bow. "As it pleases you, Jasmine."

"Dead thieves will please me."

He affords himself a glance at the exposed clavicles and bare shoulders of his strong Queen, his eyes trailing her neck, her jawline, and deep into her almond eyes. He walks back into the corridor slightly dazed by the affect, her flawless skin and fierce gaze almost as alluring as her commanding strength. She is a different Jasmine than the one he had known in his previous life. Before his curse he had thought if he could take the throne in a coup, make her his wife, he would have her subservient and weak, weary from the feisty and defiant adolescent she had been. He thinks he likes this version of her much more.

In her room, Jasmine looks after her Vizier as he walks briskly away. She feels her breath catch in her throat as she remembers that look in his eyes, devouring her skin, and she feels she might burn up from it. With a tiny whimper she buries herself back into her lonely bed and tries to find sleep once more.


	4. Chapter 4

Raid after raid torments the people of Agrabah, mostly at the borders, in small helpless villages. Weeks of fruitless searching for the responsible men has left Jasmine frustrated and feeling powerless. This time, she asks to be taken to the field to see the carnage first hand. Fifty men are assembled and she instructs Jafar to come as well. The party leaves on a warm clear morning at dawn, reaching the outlying village before the midday sun.

Jasmine steps down from her transport delicately, taking the hand gallantly offered by one of her attendants. Jafar stands staring coldly over the scene.

Bodies litter the sands and scorched earth. Homes are reduced to rubble and ash. Walking slowly among the dead, Jasmine steps over the torso of a woman, walks around the lifeless form of a grey-haired elder, and stares sadly at the body of a young man holding his infant child.

She stops when she reaches a small boy. He wears rags and his head bleeds from the wound that probably killed him.

Jasmine has tried to turn her heart to stone, to be the strong and effective ruler the city needs. But now the regal woman sits in the sands and cradles the boy to her chest, his blood staining the soft green of her silk dress.

Jafar watches her and looks across the desolation before them. He thinks he should be disgusted by her show of weakness. A Sultana should not openly weep for the life of a peasant. But he finds he cannot look at her with anything but admiration and sympathy. She is not a weak Queen. He had thought to find her broken, mewling like a kitten in the face of the ugly world. But she is strong and sure and fierce. Her compassion has made her only more assured when leading her people. He starts to approach her to… comfort her? He's not even sure himself.

Before he can reach her however, she stands and makes her way to him, the tears drying on her cheeks but no longer falling from her eyes.

"How many raids, Jafar?" She hisses quietly at him so the men cannot hear.

"Nine. Ten if the market raid had not been stopped by your guard."

"I'm ready to make my first wish."

Jafar starts visibly. He had nearly fallen into such a routine with her he had almost forgotten he was not simply the Royal Vizier.

He lays a hand softly at the bend of her arm. "I cannot bring back the dead, Jasmine. You know that is one of my limits."

"I know." She turns to face the leader of her assembled men, speaking loudly so all of them might hear.

"Captain, your men will stand in a line facing the village and close their eyes until I give word. When I tell you, they are to open their eyes and let loose their arrows and whatever men stand before them."

He bows deeply to her, "Yes, Majesty, as you command."

She waits for the guards to assemble and ready their bows then turns back to Jafar and growls her first wish.

"I wish that the people directly responsible for the deaths here will all appear together in a line parallel to my men, 6 paces in front of their drawn bows."

He can't help but smile at her careful wish. "People" responsible, not men lest there be any women to pay for this crime. "6 paces" from her men to give the guards room to fire their bows.

"As you wish" he purrs in approval.

No less than 40 men suddenly appear in a line on the sands. Some hold food in their filthy hands. Some are nude, probably having been bathing or, more likely, fornicating.

The petite Queen screams, "Now!" and fifty soldiers loose their bows into the waiting gullets of the thieves. Most are dropped immediately, often with more than one shaft protruding from their dead frames. The rest are picked off handily after an incredibly fast reload.

She looks on until she is satisfied there is no movement amongst the dead. She speaks again to the captain. "I want the victims all buried with honor today. The thieves are to be left to rot. Let the birds eat their eyes."

She turns on her heel and returns to her transport.

Jafar hurries ahead of her and stands in front of her attendant to offer his hand. He bows almost reverently.

She notices and, after a moment, accepts his hand and nods back with a quiet smile.

"Nine raids but this was the last, my dear."

She seats herself and looks back, watching Jafar walk away and approach the black steed he rode into the dessert, travelling as a man as she had requested. He easily vaults himself to the tall beast and pulls the reigns to join the caravan back to the palace.

XXX

Jasmine is quiet at dinner that evening, staring at nothing in particular and hardly touching her food. Jafar enters late and makes his apologies.

"I am sorry to be late, my dear. I was attending to the burial services of the village."

She is surprised to say the least, eyes widening a little. "Thank you, Jafar."

"It seemed appropriate someone represent the throne."

He tears at a piece of bread and chews it as she watches him.

"Do you think I acted rashly?"

"Sentencing those men to death? On the contrary I think it was necessary."

She shakes her head. "No, using the wish. I thought I should use them for something grand. Something to help my people for generations. I only have one left to give them."

He stares at her a moment before answering. He is a little incensed that she would hesitate now. "No, I do not think that was rash. How many more raids before we would have found them? This is the single largest threat you face and you acted with confidence; a shame you question it now."

She feels his agitation but has little patience for it tonight. "If you will excuse me, I find I am not hungry this evening. I need some air."

He stands with her and walks to her side, offering his arm as close to an apology as he can bring himself to give. "I find I am never hungry. Perhaps you would like company?"

He heart jumps a little and she accepts.

He leads her outside to a stone balcony that circles the dining room. She pulls her arm from his and leans over the railing, looking out into the distance, to the lantern lights in her city. "I never wanted to rule you know."

"I'm sorry?"

"I knew I was supposed to but I never really wanted it. I'm sure you find that weak." She doesn't wait for an answer, is afraid of what it would be. "Do you remember me when I was young?"

He muses and smiles a forgotten smile, but she does not see. He only says "I do."

"I was so self-assured… but truthfully I had no idea what I was doing." She laughs a little and then looks up at him. "Thank you, Jafar. I know you think you had no choice but I-" How to finish? She looks out over the city and says quietly, "I needed you."

Jafar looks at her but says nothing. Instead he slides his arm over her shoulder and stands that way, holding her to him, looking out over their city.

After a time, Jasmine glances up at him a moment then quickly drops her eyes, unable to look in his face as she says, "I remember you, you know."

He chuckles softly. "Yes I imagine you do. It wasn't _that_ long ago. And there was much… unpleasantness before I was banished to that blasted lamp." His tone darkens a little at the mention of his curse but he does not take his arm away.

She's glad he stays beside her as she continues and shakes her head. "No I mean before, when I was a girl."

He looks down in surprise. He is seldom truly surprised but in this moment he is.

"You were young when my Mother died. I didn't realize it at the time of course. Everyone is old when you are a child." She smiles up now, no longer shying from his eyes. But the smile becomes sad as she says, "You comforted me then. Why did you turn against me?"

He snorts and moves from her. She regrets immediately her words pushing him away. "I didn't turn against you. If you mean my so called betrayal, if you recall I would have wed you if you'd had me. What I could not stomach was watching your clown Father play at being Sultan."

"He was a good man," she says quietly. "He was kind and he trusted you completely. More than I did," she muses.

"He was a fool who watched his wife perish and left his daughter in despair alone. He ruled like a child and saw no urgency in anything. Do you know how many alliances I had to save? How many threats I had to extinguish?" His voice has risen as he speaks but then drops low as he continues. "Yes I was young when your Mother left you. Too inexperienced in healing to be of any help yet your Father left her health in my hands. His faith in me was misguided and she paid the highest price for it."

Jasmine looks at him with discerning eyes. "Is that why you changed after that?" She hesitates to say it. "Guilt?"

"Of course I felt guilt!" He hisses in the night, leaned over the balcony rail, the muscles in his arms straining as he clutches the warm stone.

Jasmine approaches and lays a hand on his back. She changes the course of the conversation, back to where she had wanted to be in the beginning. "I missed you after that."

His eyes soften a little, muscles in his arms relax.

"I never knew if it mattered to you but when I was a little girl, you meant a lot to me. I just want you to know that now."

He continues to stare down at her when he finally turns and puts his hands at her waist, leaning down to take her lips with his. She is surprised, her eyes going wide, but she gives no resistance and soon wraps her own arms around his neck.

When their kiss becomes more heated, urgent, they both break away in the shock of it.

"Jafar-"

He assumes she is about to scold him. Question him and he interrupts her immediately. "I apologize, Jasmine, it will not happen again."

With that, he is gone in red smoke, Jasmine still standing, her mouth open to speak.

She tells the empty balcony, "It's ok…"


	5. Chapter 5

The desert night is deliciously cool, giving relief to the peasants and nobility alike. Children playing in the street do not feel their eyes sting with sweat. Lovers embrace, delighting in the warmth of each other's body rather than drawing away from the sticky flesh in discomfort. Men laugh together and drink red wine, tempers cool like the earth beneath their bare feet.

Agrabah is at peace. Their Sultana has taken care of her people and the Royal Vizier has brought new life to her eyes.

In the palace, still reeling from the stolen kiss on the balcony, Jasmine sinks down into the sheets on her bed, her warm body heating the material around her, relishing the luxury of cold silk.

Nights like this are the hardest. It is an evening for caress and rejoicing in the body of another. She never denies herself that she is lonely. She longs for companionship, for comfort, for wit, for solace from the troubles of the throne. She has found that to some degree in Jafar. But tonight, she doesn't miss the words or the smiles. Tonight she only wants to be touched.

Her hand reaches to touch her own thighs beneath the sheet, to play with the soft flesh where her legs meet her sex. She teases herself like only she knows how. Five years a widow, she is quite adept at bringing herself to release.

She toys with herself, building the tension to near breaking point to make the relief that much more intense. Her other hand finds her breast and she cups herself gently. In her mind, rougher hands hold her there, large hands with a stronger grip. She moans softly at the images she creates.

Timidly, she knows who those hands belong to her in mind. She sees black eyes glaring at her, hungry and fierce. She could be shocked at herself, ashamed. But in this moment it is her truth and she can't deny it any more than she can deny the heat radiating from her desperate form. She allows a soft name to escape her mouth and smiles at herself a little, surprised by the boldness of even thinking such a thing.

She loses herself again nearly touching that one perfect spot when she hears a baritone break the silence of the room.

"You called for me?" comes the silky purr she knows well.

She is shocked and blushes his favorite shade of crimson, taking one deep breath that swells her chest. Embarrassed would be an understatement but she does not deny it. Far more urgent is her need, and looking at his eyes as they crawl over her naked form, only partially obscured by a thin silk sheet, undoes her completely.

"I - I didn't think you would hear," she breathes.

"I always hear and I am bound to heed. But had I known," he pauses and looks down her frame before returning to lock eyes with her gaze. "Had I known the force of the lamp would not have been needed to bid me to you."

She groans in response and closes her eyes, drowning in the intensity of the moment.

"Will you lie with me, Jafar?"

He growls a throaty, "As you wish," as he removes his cloak and stalks to the foot of her bed.

He rips the sheet off of her before crawling onto his knees between her legs, bare chested and only clothed in his black satin pants, the bulge at their front evident to her wandering gaze. He presses himself against her, gripping her legs beneath her knees to hold her hard to his body before sliding his hands up her thighs. His arms are on either side of her, supporting his weight as he leans his body over hers. He takes one soft breast into his mouth, tongue flicking gently against the darker tip inside his lips.

She clutches to him desperately, hands clawing at the skin of his back, gripping the tense muscles in his neck.

He moves his face to hers and whispers deep and low, "is this what you wanted?"

She whimpers a, "yes", and could nearly weep with the anticipation.

He slides himself out of his silk pants, leaving the waistband low on his hips, and positions against her. Jasmine writhes and clutches at the silk sheets as his mouth explores her neck, her breasts. He does not enter, but slides his shaft down the length of her entrance. She can feel him pulsate against her, enhancing her own desire. She begs in a whisper, "Jafar, please…"

He stops a moment and raises his head to her face. He searches her almond eyes and answers her plea with his own. "Release me."

She looks at him and doesn't understand.

"Make the wish. Release me. I would take you as a man, not in servitude."

"I-I can't. My people... How can I know you would stay?"

What she means is "I don't want to let you go. If you are free you might leave me to rule alone… to _live_ alone. I'm afraid to wake up and you not be here with me." But she can't find the words to say it.

What he hears is "I don't trust you. Your power is too important to my rule. I'll never let you go from your bonds. You will always be a slave."

His eyes darken and he pulls away from her, lifting the waistband of his black pants, feeling himself throb painfully against the satin in want of her but refusing to be used in this way. "I may be bound to do your bidding, but you can't have everything and give me nothing, Princess." He spits her old title out, dripping poison in his rage.

Her own anger rises. "Give you nothing?! What do you want that I have not offered you, including my body?"

"This," he gestures to her bed with a sneer, "was never about _giving_ anything. You want someone to warm your bed. Well this was never part of our deal."

The tears sting her eyes. She believes she sees clearly now. The deal. All of this…it was simply his attempt to shorten his time bound to her. She feels used and wraps her arms around herself to cover her body, glaring at him in shame. "Get out."

"As you _wish_." Red smoke chokes the air and all that remains is his black cloak still shed on her floor.

XXX

Jafar does not come to Jasmine in the courtyard the next day, nor does he make an appearance at their evening meal. She knows she could call him, command him to her, but she is stubborn and hurt. She wants him to come to her. She wants him to prove she was wrong. As the day passes and he makes no move to approach, she falls into an accepting despair.

She feels foolish. She imagined he had warmed to her, cared for her. Bitter tears well in her eyes many times through the day. As darkness falls, she retires to her chambers alone and weeps.

Down the hall in his own chambers, Jafar paces the floor, rages against himself, tears the draperies from the walls, panting in exhausted anger. He feels something he has never experienced. He doesn't know what it is.

Jasmine could tell him; it's betrayal.

XXX

After the better part of a week, Jasmine waits in the courtyard, a second tea cooling on the table, when he finally appears.

She has passed through every way of thinking she can imagine. She was hurt, angry, sad, numb… Now she is just Jasmine. She waits for her Vizier and has no more illusion of control over the man that was Jafar; that is now a powerful Genie. But she still needs him.

He bows stiffly as red smoke clears and sits.

But he does not lift the tea.

"Good morning." She doesn't call him by either name or title, unsure what is appropriate.

"Morning."

She gestures to the table. "Would you care for tea? I could have a fresh cup brought…"

Jafar shakes his head. "That is unnecessary."

Cold. He's cold. Because she knows the truth? It feels unfair he can turn on her yet make her feel like she should grovel.

She looks away across the courtyard, hiding her eyes from him, willing the tears to dry in the hot desert breeze. "Dignitaries arrive tomorrow to discuss trade to the south. I'd like you to join me in welcoming them when they arrive midday."

"I will be there."

"Thank you. That is all for today."

"Until tomorrow then."

And with that he is gone in another cloud of smoke. She lets her tears fall.


	6. Chapter 6

Jasmine dines alone, as has been her custom now for weeks. She had found such contentment in simple conversation when Jafar had joined her each evening. Now she only sees him in the courtyard, as was their original arrangement.

Tonight, as many of the past few, she finds herself reflective. Perhaps it is all to have been expected. You can't cage a tiger then ask it to thank you for the steel bars. Would she not have found any way to escape had their roles been reversed? Years before, another life, when he had wished the kingdom and offered her a crown to sit at his side, had she not used her own sexuality to distract him, seducing him to gain the upper hand? She had knowingly helped trap him presumably forever in that lamp. Her anger at his so called betrayal has been dissipating for days. Her life is but a few decades on this earth and it appears she may spend the rest of it alone; now with another poor soul shackled to her suffering in his own solitude.

Her people are otherwise very satisfied. The year has been prosperous and peaceful, mostly without the use of Jafar's power, only his presence.

Her public face is serene smiles and a powerful gaze. No one knows her heart, least of all the man who broke it.

She levels a golden spoon shallow in a bowl of soup but does not lift it to her lips. She stares at the tendrils of steam, reminding her of smoke and magic.

Laying the spoon back to the side of her bowl, Jasmine rises and bids her staff to take the plate away. She has found little appetite of late. Her legs feel weak beneath her and she retreats to her chambers to sleep.

XXX

Days pass and Jasmine finally succumbs to the weakness of her body. She believes what she needs is rest. The hunt for the thieves, the strain of the kingdom, and that palpable loneliness that haunted her so long and now returned, exhaustion has taken her.

After a time however, her breathing more labored and her skin hot, she would admit this is more than stress and heartbreak. She no longer leaves her room to dine, asking instead that meals be brought to her room. Each day, less is taken from the tray as her appetite wanes.

On the third day that she does not visit the courtyard, Jafar has ceased thinking that she is being dramatic, or avoiding him. The first days, he stubbornly ignored her absence and handled matters of state in her stead.

By day four, he is afraid.

On the fifth day, stubborn man though he is, he approaches her private rooms, where he has not stepped foot nor appeared in smoke since the night she...

Since that night.

He stands in front of the door and raises a hand to knock, hesitating a moment before firmly wrapping on the heavy wood.

He hears no reply and thinks perhaps she is asleep when her lady in waiting opens and peers up at him in question.

"Royal Vizier." She curtsies an awkward little bow. "I'm afraid the Sultana is not feeling well. Is this urgent?"

"I would like to assess her health. If she is too sick to attend to her kingdom, perhaps I can create a medicine for her."

The lady nods, defaulting to his superior status, though secretly she is afraid to allow the dark man near her mistress in her weak state. She stands aside and opens the door, allowing him to breeze past her.

He strides to the bed and stops short when he sees her pale face. He looks back at the attendant.

"How long has she been like this?! Have you sent for a healer?"

"Begging your pardon but yes, sir, three days ago. He gave her something to make her more comfortable but had no other answers."

"Leave us," he growls at her.

"Uh... if you please, sir, it is my duty to take care-"

"Leave. Now." He's quieter but there is no arguing with the icy tone.

The lady slowly nods but then scurries from the room. "I'll return with her lunch if it pleases you."

He waves her away. "Yes, yes, fine."

Jafar approaches the tiny queen and swallows at the sight of her. Her eyes are closed in what he imagines to be a restless sleep. Her skin is waxy, her gorgeous black silk hair is dull and matted, her breath raspy and shallow.

He sits beside her tiny figure on the bed, careful not to jostle her, but she wakes anyway.

"Jafar..." Her voice is a hoarse whisper.

"Jasmine, how long have you been like this? Why didn't you send for me? I have healing magics, potions, tomes of remedies."

She offers a weak smile. "I was sure...I could beat... this." Shallow breaths and coughs disrupt her speech.

Jafar looks over her and his mind races to the past. He sees another black haired lady, coughs racking her frame, her visage pallid and drawn.

"Well you can't," he spits out in frustration. "And your healers are worthless. They couldn't help her and they won't save you."

In her fever she has been confused, hardly lucid many times. But she is clear of mind now and she knows what he means without him needing to say it.

Her Mother. They could not save her Mother.

He's searching her cloudy eyes and he knows the worst truth. He couldn't save her either. And he's not sure, even after the years spent collecting more and more knowledge, that he can help her daughter now.

Except really, he knows he can.

"Make a wish, Jasmine. Wish for your health. I can't bring you back if you die but I can give you vitality, take the sickness from you. But you have to say it."

She shakes her head barely.

"You have to say it! Or I can't." He sounds angry at first. Then almost pleading.

"That wish is... for my people. I did not... search to find...you... to waste it."

"Well no one will have it if you are dead." He takes her cold hand in his own almost without thinking. His anger at her dissolves into the very real fear that he might lose her.

Jasmine could be cynical. She could assume he only cares because her death would mean he would not be freed and forced into service to yet another master. A flicker of her feverish brain does think that but it seems so small now. All that matters to her in this moment is a warm hand relieving the chill in her own. She smiles at him and tries to grip his hand back.

"I want to... use that wish... for my kingdom. But if you... could do something… you, _Jafar_,... not the Genie, I would be even more... in your debt."

He looks at her intensely, anger welling inside him. Not at her precisely, though the frustration with his stubborn queen is no small part of it.

"I will do everything I can but if you have not improved by tomorrow, you are going to make that wish. You think you are being selfish to use it on yourself? You would leave your kingdom with no heir to your throne. The vultures will come out and tear this palace apart for the privilege of ruling the rubble that is left. Do you understand me?"

She stares back at his narrowed eyes and tries to nod in response. Really, all she manages is a purposeful blink but he takes it as his confirmation and nods back, some of his anger and fear releasing their hold.

"When that insufferable woman comes back with your lunch you need to eat it. As much as you feel you can. With luck she is bright enough to bring you something simple like broth. I will return to you this afternoon after I visit the apothecary. Drink water, sleep, and try to eat. That's all you are to concern yourself with today."

She smiles a little as he commands her. "Yes... Jafar."

He releases her hand but places his for the briefest moment on her cheek before he turns and leaves the room. He barely reaches the hall when he transports himself in smoke to his chambers to begin his research.

In her bed, Jasmine, more frail than she has ever been, closes her eyes and feels a hand caress her skin, even though it is no longer there.

XXX

In his rooms, Jafar searches through dusty tomes he has not needed in a lifetime. The spine of a leather bound book cracks a little in protest. He flings it across the room for its trouble when he can't find what he needs.

Finally, after some time, he stumbles on something that looks to hold promise. He re-reads the formula many times before deciding this is what he needs. Most of the ingredients named can be found within his own inventory of powders, herbs, and plants. A few however, he will need to find at the market.

Not bothering with the charade that he is mortal man, he disappears from his rooms and is immediately standing in the apothecary's shop, the surprised man gaping at him, frozen in place.

Jafar approaches him with the page from his book, now free of its bindings, held in front of him. "I need these things," pointing at the last two items.

"I-uh-yes, Royal Vizier, anything you need. J-just a moment." He hurries away from the imposing man and finds 2 vials amongst his stock. Jafar snatches them and tosses a gold coin on the counter. Jasmine would prefer he pay for it.

In a breath he is gone again, before the coin even comes to rest. The shopkeeper is dazed but picks up the payment and pockets it on instinct, more surprised than anyone he had been compensated at all.

XXX

Jasmine is trapped in feverish dreams. She wakes when her lady returns with, as Jafar had hoped, a light broth. She is also given bread and fruit. A few nibbles of bread and perhaps half of the broth is all she can do. The fruit turns her stomach and she sends it away untouched.

Her skin is hot, but Jasmine only feels a chill that seeps into her bones. She asks her attendant to sit with her until she sleeps, to hold her hand. She would never admit to Jafar, but she is afraid. More so now that his own fear made hers more valid. She is sick very much like her Mother had been. And here she is putting her faith in the man who could not save her, just as her Father had.

She drifts back into sleep and doesn't know when her attendant rises to open the door.

Jafar nods at the lady and she opens the door wide for him to enter without a word.

Once inside, he glances at the sleeping Queen and asks, "How has she been?"

"She managed a little soup this afternoon, and bread. She has mostly slept but not well. She says she's cold but the fever is on her. Her skin could nearly light a fire."

He nods and produced a vial from his robes. "This should do something for the fever. Leave us a while. I will stay with her."

"Yes, M'Lord. I'll just be in kitchen should you need me."

She leaves and he watches the door shut before turning back to the bed and approaching the frail Sultana.

As before, he sits gently but she wakes from her hazy sleep. "You're… back."

"I have something for you and you need to drink it. _All_ of it. If it works, you should begin to improve by tonight. If not, you will improve because you will wish it so."

Jasmine closes her eyes and nods carefully, knowing she will not give up her wish so easily but having not the strength to argue.

"I'm going to help you sit up so you can drink." Jafar sets the vial on the table to her side and slides an arm under her tiny frame. The effort in simple movement shows on her face as she grimaces in discomfort. When she is sitting against the silk pillows, he takes the vial and holds it to her lips.

"Every drop, Jasmine."

He tips it up and she begins to drink the bitter concoction with effort. She tries to stop but he urges her on, commanding but gently, and tips the vial slowly into her mouth.

When the container is empty he helps her lay back down and stands from the bed. He feels her take his hand weakly. "Don't leave… please."

He turns back to her and answers, "I won't. I'll be right here." He gestures to a chair just off the foot of the bed. "Sleep now. I'll wake you for dinner."

She smiles in response and closes her eyes, comforted by the sound of the chair scraping the floor as he sits.

XXX

When the morning sun breaks the horizon and streams light into her room, Jasmine wakes feeling something that has become foreign.

She's hungry.

She looks around her room and is a little disappointed to see her lady in waiting in the chair by her bed. Jafar had been there when she woke for dinner the night before, as he had promised, but then had left her in the care of her lady, seeming satisfied that her skin no longer burned to the touch.

She tries to sit up but finds she is still very weak, her movements waking the woman watching over her.

"M'Lady, don't strain yourself so. What can I get you?"

Jasmine returns a soft, "I'm hungry. Can you ask the kitchens for my breakfast?" She makes it through the phrase without coughing.

The woman smiles and stands quickly. "Of course! Right away, Highness. I'll be right back."

As she rushes away, Jasmine manages to sit up on her own and looks out to the pink morning sky.

XXX

In the hall, Jafar sees the woman leave Jasmine and stops her with his hand in front of her face. "Why are you leaving her alone?"

"Apologies but she asked for breakfast. Even sat up by herself! I think she is finally coming around, Your Grace."

He nods in approval and gestures the woman continue. Starting toward Jasmine's door, he reconsiders and instead returns to his room in solitude.

XXX

He does not see her again until three days later when she has the strength to meet him in the courtyard. She smiles at him brightly but he has returned to his dark brooding and only nods at her as he sits and ignores his tea.


	7. Chapter 7

Jasmine sits stock still on her massive bed, trying to appear calm. Inside her nerves rage. With a trembling hand, she strokes the side of her lamp. In a moment, Jafar stands before her, arriving in smoke as, on principle it seems, he again refuses to come to her as a man.

"Yes?" She cringes at the abject lack of emotion in his tone. She misses the sound of her name on his lips or the pet names he had sometimes used. Even if it had all been a facade, a decidedly Jafar-like play for power, it had been less lonely for a time. She would trade much to return to those days.

"Jafar, I would like to make a wish."

He quirks his eyebrow at her in surprise. "Indeed? Has something catastrophic befallen the kingdom?"

"I've actually been thinking a lot about what you said when I was sick, and you are correct. I need an heir to my throne, to protect the kingdom when I am gone." She takes a deep breath and, before she can reconsider, says, "I wish that I will produce a healthy heir within the next three years with a suitable man of my choosing."

He's not sure if it is surprise or confusion but it seems an odd wish. Regardless he feels the power surge within him and he says simply, "It is done. How it is done I can't know but when you choose a man, you will easily be with child."

She looks at him with sad eyes and then lowers her head, her voice quiet in the large room. "I wish for you to be free of the lamp and returned to your human form, as it was at age thirty years."

He has no time to react as the magic swirls around him and his shackles fall from his wrists. His body is painful. Years of being not quite alive left him forgetting what it is to force your legs to stand. He falters and takes a knee, his enormous strength abandoning him. When it is over he is left naked on the stone floor. His beard is much shorter than before. He was older when cursed with the lamp.

It seems almost anticlimactic. Such a quick transformation for such a complete change of their whole lives. She has considered this for days. At first only a vague notion. Slowly she gave it more serious consideration. She realizes what a great debt she owes him for her life and the guilt of it forced her hand. She has all but forgiven him for his past life.

Also, she can't help but… love him? She is a little sickened by her own weakness, caring for a man who would use her. But it had been good for a while. And his care when she suffered her illness had seemed genuine. Maybe she is in love with her naïve idea of him. Regardless the sick feeling inside her is unmistakable.

Jasmine holds a robe out to him so he might cover himself and looks away with a slight pink to her cheek. She says, "I thought if I would return you to life I may as well add to your years, a thank you for this last year and to make up for those lost to your bonds. You are free from the lamp and from me."

He looks up at her and has nothing. No response. He should thank her, he thinks. But confusion has paralyzed his tongue. Why would she release him? If she sought only his service...

He stands and wraps the robe around his thin frame. His torso is a little less defined than it had become over the years. He feels vulnerable for the first time in a lifetime. He doesn't know how to say thank you. "You could have wished for anything, Jasmine…1000 years of peace for your kingdom, wealth for the city's poor, anything. You would most likely not have needed the wish for an heir."

It's the first time he has used her given name in days and her heart lifts its nearly lifeless head. "Kingdoms rise and fall. Many have survived without magic. It is_ my_ responsibility to help my people."

"Is that my dismissal then?"

She can't read him or his tone. She thought he would be happy. Grateful even. "I assumed you would _want_ to leave..." Then more quietly, "once you had what you wanted from me."

"I see. And you? Will you be seeking another advisor? You seemed resolute you needed a Vizier, went through many lengths to secure one, or so you lead me to believe."

She smiles a sorrowful smile. "Good advisors are hard to find. Once you have one, even harder to replace. I wish..."

She stops and waves her hand. "It's of no consequence. Thank you for your service this past year, Jafar. I am a better Sultana and the Kingdom stronger in no small part because of you."

He is stunned and quiet. This is not how he expected their deal to end. He had believed it never would, that she would dangle freedom in front of him like a worm on a hook until she succumbed to the end of her days. He had become very nearly resigned to it.

He's too proud to ask, too stubborn to acknowledge, but more than anything, he does not want to say goodbye to her. He is desperate to stay.

"Perhaps it would benefit if I remained as Royal Vizier then..."

He adds hastily, "After all, I am comfortable in this life and if you do not object to my advice..."

Jasmine feels elated but then suspicious. She can't help it and even he would have to admit it is deserved. "I - I would like you to stay if we can find our way to how it was before." She doesn't have to outline what 'before' means. They are both painfully aware, though neither is sure the other feels the same sting.

"But you are still a powerful sorcerer and I know you are capable of..." she swallows, lost in her own thoughts but trying to make him understand without making herself look weak as a consequence. "I just need to know I am safe from any attempts on my throne or my life."

"You think I would take your life so easily, little Jasmine?" Her heart races at that, at the hope in it, remembering the towering and mysterious man from her childhood. In her mind she finds him beneath a persimmon tree. He shows her which are good to eat. She giggles at the face he makes when he picks a sour one and he smirks down at her. The man in those bittersweet memories is standing before her, roughly the same age he was then.

Yet he continues, "You think I could not have taken it already tonight if I so chose?" Her heartbeat quickens again but the hope now mixes with fear. He is a dangerous man, lest she has forgotten, regardless of the age of his body. His mind and heart are the same as the older man she had so feared as an adolescent girl. Now in her memory she is dressed in red as Aladdin battles for her hand, her Father in a trance-like state of Jafar's doing.

"I have no doubt you could." She lifts her head and tries to look unafraid.

They stare that way for a moment, sizing up one another. She thinks she might lose her life, reward for her mercy. He thinks simply she is beautiful in the moonlight, aching to embrace her, misreading the fear in her eyes for something else.

He speaks next, softer than before, "I did not save your life to take it. I will stay then, by your leave."

_By your leave_. He is allowing her at least an illusion of control. Perhaps that will be enough.

She smiles a small but sincere smile. "Then, I will see you tomorrow, Jafar."

He nods as he turns away quickly, not trusting himself to stay, his anger at her now completely swallowed by longing. He had said he had no needs as that of a man before. He realizes now he had nearly told the truth. His desire for her, though it had been palpable weeks ago, has grown tenfold in these few moments since she released him and he nearly panicked when he thought she would ask him to leave her side. He had forgotten what "need" truly was.

"Good night, Jasmine."

Slowing at the door but not daring to turn around he adds, "Thank you."

She lets out a breath she did not realize she held. "Jafar, wait!"

He hesitates, just at the door, and turns to her.

"I was thinking, your needs have changed." She grins a little. "Maybe you would join me for breakfast before tea?"

In his mind he nods coolly and walks out the door closing it softly behind him. He returns to his room and lays down for his first night of mortal sleep in nearly 15 years. In the morning he walks into the dining hall and sits beside the queen as he had at so many dinners and they converse, strained but trying to warm to each other. Weeks roll into months. Maybe their relationship can heal but he can never say he loves her. His new curse, worse than the lamp, will be to watch suitor after suitor play for her hand, knowing she is looking for a Sultan, and an heir.

In but a moment he plays out the years in his mind. But in the end, he plays out one last scenario and it is this that he chooses.

Stalking back across the floor, his arms circle her and his mouth devours hers. She whimpers in the relief of him and her legs nearly buckle beneath her.

When his lips break from hers in favor of her neck, she breathes, "Jafar, stay with me please. Not just tonight. Always."

He pulls back and looks into her eyes, seeing a new future there. He smiles slowly and speaks before taking her mouth, claiming her as his and offering himself to her in turn.

"As you wish."


End file.
